Someone you once knew
by RestlessPuppy
Summary: For his chaos on Midgard, Loki's memory has been wiped clean, he has been stripped of his powers and sent to live as a mortal. Thor aches for him. AU. Thor/Loki.
1. Prologue

"_Do you see him now?"_

"_Yes."_

"_How is he?"_

"_Lost…"_

_There is a pause._

"_He dreams of his brother. He searches for him."_

_Thor can only smile._

* * *

He's longed to see him, longed for him since the Allfather sent him away. A curse worse than any, a punishment Thor can scarcely imagine carrying out - yet one so kind, one so gentle, he wouldn't ask for anything more.

He misses him.

Loki's absence has left a gaping, aching wound in his chest. A hole that he cannot fill. Volstagg has helped him, given him countless delicacies to try, an abundance of foreign tastes. Sif had brought him new weapons to try, tried to tempt him with training, and even Fandral had given his best with wine and ale, but Thor remains inconceivable. Locked from them by some intangible wall of glass.

They can see him, but no longer can they feel him.

"Heimdall." He calls. The guardian's cold golden gaze flicks upon him, but his lips remain a stoic line.

"This is not wise." His voice comes a rumble, but Thor rolls a shoulder, as if to show him how little it matters.

"Have I ever been wise?" He half-grins, but it lacks warmth, Heimdall sees it. Thor knows he does, he _must_ - but he says nothing.

"Remember the last time you passed me, and remember it well."

Thor remembers - remembers his father casting him out, sending him to Midgard. He tells himself this is different, this is something more; not simply a foolish provocation. _I only wish to see him_. He thinks, vehemently. _Just for a moment, just to see him. _

_Just for him_.

Heimdall's blade slides home, and the ice-like wind whips up about them, a thousand and one scents touch Thor's nose, glide through his hair like invisible fingers, and whip at his cloak, his hair. But he holds it high, sets his shoulders firm.

_I'm coming, brother_.

* * *

He finds him.

As long as it takes, he finds him. It's no longer difficult, he remembers Midgard. It's night, the streets are empty. Reluctantly - he tugs off his cloak, drapes it over his arm to hide the majority of his glinting armour. Armour that winks - even in the moonlight. He walks with purpose - for he can feel him. He knows where he is, where he lies - where he slumbers.

Distantly; he thinks of his friends. Of Stark, and of The Captain. Even of Natasha and the little man with his bow. But they pale beside his true intentions. His true purposes.

He finds the apartment complex with little difficulty - the door handle crumbles under his fingers.

* * *

The little apartment is neat.

Books lie strewn upon coffee tables and half-off bookshelves. Researches into Norse mythology, maps of Norway and Switzerland. Viking tales and pictures adorn the walls, and Thor smiles to himself. He comes to a halt; there is a picture of him. The inscription reads _'The Mighty God of Thunder'_, and he reaches out. Brushes a thick finger along the burnished frame. Before he hears a soft rustle from somewhere behind him, and he turns.

Loki lies there. Asleep - indeed.

His hair is no longer black, but sandy-blonde, reminiscent of Fandral's, it curls gently. His cheeks are no longer sunken, nor his eyes. His skin is pale alabaster, unblemished under the dim moonlight. His expression is vacant, his eyes closed. His chest rising and falling in soft breaths with one of his many Midgardian books open upon him.

Thor's smile melts away at the sight. Something tugs sharply at his heart, his stomach ties itself into knots - he forgets to breathe.

He looks not a thing like the brother Thor remembers. He looks so peaceful, so… at ease. His mind is not running and skittering, his eyes are not shining with mischief and vengeance, his lips are not curled into a cruel smile - this is he at his most vulnerable.

_He's beautiful_.

Thor knows he ought to leave. He's seen him - is that not only what he came for? But his feet are rooted to the rug beneath him. He can no longer move, let alone breathe. He wants to take him with him, whisk him away, back to Asgard, hide him, even if he may be mortal now. Keep him as Thor's, because is that not what he has always been?

It's as if he might have heard Thor's heartbeat, for his pale eyelids flutter, he shifts, the book slides from his chest, and Thor moves before he feels himself, and catches it before it lands upon the rug.

Loki sees him - and his eyes go wide.

"O-Oh my-!"

But Thor lunges forwards, clamps a hand about his mouth and tugs him against him with a whispered, "Hush, brother." and he winces at his own words - _Loki remembers nothing_.

"I only wished to see you, I did not mean to startle you, nor wake you. I have missed you, please - do not struggle. Listen - will you listen?" He peers down at him, Loki's eyes are wide - as emerald-green as he remembers them, and impossibly wide as he gapes up at Thor. But… he nods.

Thor's hand falls slack, and then away from his lips.

"Who are you?" Loki's voice comes a quivering whisper.

Thor smiles, a thin, but altogether, sad smile.

"Someone you once knew." He murmurs, _in another life, another world. _

"I'd not expect you to remember me." He continues, Loki still braced to his chest, and the smaller man isn't fighting him. Simply peering up at him, a mix of awe and fear in his eyes - Thor can almost see him piecing it all together. The Thor in the painting upon his wall, the Thor described in the book on the floor, and the Thor whose arms he lies in. "But we were… together, once."

Loki blinks at him - but says nothing.

It's agonizing - being so close, and yet… unable to _touch_.

"Might I…?" He holds up a hand by the apple of Loki's cheek, and waits until the younger nods, before he touches him, he curves his wide hand along that soft, porcelain skin, cards it through his curled hair, taking a liking to it, despite the sheer black he's most used to seeing. His touch trails down the pale line of Loki's throat, to the dip in his collar bone, the rest of his chest remains hidden beneath a crisp, white shirt with shorter sleeves.

Thor aches to touch him, his body tingles with warmth, a searing rush sweeps down his spine, and he tips his face forwards, presses the bridge of his nose to the hollow of Loki's neck, and inhales.

He smells of mint and sleep - and something vaguely familiar. The scent sends a fresh spark through Thor, reminds him of just who he has in his arms, who he has been missing since he was cast aside, who he has been _wanting_ since he were a mere boy.

"My brother." He whispers, almost a sob, and his hands are moving again, sweeping to the hem of Loki's shirt, pressing it up, to his arms, he feels Loki's thighs parting beneath him, hears a hitched gasp being torn from his lips, and Thor's insides constrict (_what would father think?_) Oh, but he's _missed him_, so _very_ much.

"My Loki." He breathes, hears Loki whimper beneath him as his large hand presses to that bared chest. Brushes over a pert nipple, sweeps down to the dip of his spine, and further yet, past the thick-and-soft material of his trousers, to the curve of his backside where - once more - Thor forgets how to breathe.

Loki is trembling against him, thighs either side of Thor's waist, pressed to the backrest of the couch, and yet - he is unyielding. He puts up no fight - for the first time, Thor feels his hands, one perched precariously upon his shoulder, the other tangled through his hair, both uncertain, both unsure, but neither pushing him away.

Thor's hand curves around him gently, around the fleshy mound of his backside. He _squeezes_, and he feels his arousal _throb _and_ burn_. He feels Loki stiffen and his breath catch, _he wants_.

"Have you been touched before, brother?" He whispers, voice muffled in the bend of Loki's neck.

His reply comes after a sharp pause.

"No."

Thor presses into him, closes his eyes tight, squeezes that fleshy mound in his hand sharply - he cannot take this. He cannot, not ever, take this from him. This does not belong to him _nor will it ever_, and his heart constricts, bile rises in his throat, but he brings two fingers to Loki's lips regardless.

"Open your mouth for me, brother." He murmurs, and blindly - Loki obeys. So trusting, so obliging, for a man who simply strode into his home. His lips quiver, and then part, taking Thor's thick fingers inside a warm wet heat, sucking, brushing his tongue along the calloused pad of Thor's fingers, until that alone threatens to engulf him, watching those cheeks hollow out, Thor's breath catches once more, and he withdraws.

His hand shoves down the grey trousers, revealing pale thighs to the pearly moonlight. Thor presses them apart, ignoring the soft cry of dissent from Loki - for his body does not fight. His arousal is flushed a heavy pink, curved up to his belly, leaving a smarting stain of precome beneath his navel, and Thor's fingers glide between his cheeks.

"I will not harm you." Thor tells him, and he sees Loki's eyes close, sees him reach out, and grip his shoulders, hold onto him, like he's some sort of lifeline, like he's Loki's anchor to this fractured new world he's been thrown into.

He presses into that blistering heat, and he groans as if it truly were his cock. He hears Loki whine, hears him dip his head back and let out a broken sob, feels his fingers dig into Thor's shoulders, and Thor simply surges forwards, and presses his lips to that pale throat. Sucks the alabaster flesh past his lips, wanting to _mark_, to _take_.

Loki shudders beneath him, thighs clamping around Thor's narrow waist, a quiet, "Please-" slipping from his trembling lips, a plea for more or for less, Thor does not know, but curves his fingers, beckons within him, brushes what he thinks _must_ be something - for Loki jerks, twitches, _arches_ beautifully before him, and cries out into the darkened apartment.

"Hush, brother." Thor coos, lining up his middle finger, and easing it gently in with his first, watching his pale form squirm and cling, hold onto him so tightly - _so tightly_. "So beautiful, brother." He breathes.

"Mine."

He curves both his fingers, twists them, feels Loki's heat swell against him, feels him surge, his muscles fluttering about him, that ring of pink muscle stretched for him - his head falls forwards to rest upon Thor's shoulder, who presses him back into the couch, hips thrusting into the backs of his thighs, mirroring his movements as if his cock truly _were _buried within him.

Loki's arms wind about his shoulders, hold him close, and he's _sobbing_ into the bend of Thor's neck, his fingers are pumping in and out, stroking over that spot that makes Loki twitch and writhe beneath him, pressed between Thor and the couch, the place within him that makes him _keen_ wetly with _want_.

Then, with a final broken cry of; "_A-Ah!"_ Loki spills onto his abdomen, onto his shirt, fast, hot and sharp - he quivers all over as Thor's fingers continue their merciless assault, continue stroking him from the inside, fucking him relentlessly until he's spilled every drop, until he's little more than a whimpering, quivering mess beneath him, and Thor leans down swiftly, and kisses his bitten-red lips.

He kisses him wetly, languidly - open-mouthed and unceremoniously. Taking and _taking_. Owning - because _brother my brother all mine, mine mine mine no-one else only me mine._

Too soon he knows he must draw back, he knows he must leave, for he has overstayed his welcome by far too long. But Loki holds onto him, his fingers remain curved about Thor's shoulders, fingers gripping his armour, holding fast as he trembles and shakes - jerks as Thor eases his fingers from inside him, leaving him empty and breathless. Boneless and exhausted. Thor can see his mortal form growing weak. See him slump down with a broken sound.

"Hush." He whispers to him again, arms sliding from about him, touch falling away, despite the _painful_ arousal confined within his leathers. He leans in, gifts Loki with a kiss to his brow, feels him shudder, but lets Thor tug up the soft, grey trousers, tug down his stained shirt - and lastly, lift the deep blood-red cloak to cover him with. Loki… simply too wrung out, simply too tired to voice questions - questions Thor knows his mind must be brimming with, closes his eyes.

He falls asleep.

_He looks peaceful._

Thor can only smile.

* * *

He leaves the apartment as he has found it, taking nothing, although his heart strains for a single memento. A single reminder of the brother he once had and lost.

The night is cold when it whips at his skin, when it guides him back the way he had come, and he lifts his head to the clouds. To the brewing storm he can see, rumbling in the distance.

"Heimdall." He calls.

* * *

Loki wakes when the sunlight kisses his eyelids, feeling wrung out and above all - thirsty. He sits up, a velvet-red _something_ rumples at his waist, and he reaches out, the night before returning to him in sluggish trickles of _yes_.

_Brother…_

He stares down at the cloak, tips it aside and clambers to his feet. He steps into his bathroom and gazes at his reflection, at the bruise on the bend of his neck, and his heart stutters in his chest.

...

"_I'd not expect you to remember me."_

Oh... but Loki remembers.

He remembers _everything_ now


	2. Thunder and Steel

A storm brews outside.

* * *

"_Father-"_

"_SILENCE!"_

_Thor hangs his head, and indeed - silence fills the wide hall. Loki stands beside him, chewing the inside of the muzzle, like he wants to bite through it. Refusing to meet the Allfether's half gaze, refusing even, to look at his brother._

"_Loki's punishment is mine to decide, I only asked that you bring him here, Thor. You have done that."_

"_But father-"_

"_I said SILENCE!" his voice rings out around the wide hall, Loki's eyes dip closed._

"_Three parts. His punishment will come in three parts." He holds up three fingers, his eye fixed on Loki, "We must end the lies. For good."_

_Another pause, Thor dares lift his head._

"_Sew his lips shut."_

"_Father-!"_

"_SILENCE!"_

"_The second, torture. He must… learn the consequences for his actions, and finally - we will return him from where I found him. Strip him of his meddling powers, leave him to the Jotun's to do with what they will."_

"_I-"_

"_You, Thor." He points to him, "You will carry out his punishment."_

_Silence falls, and this time, without need for the Allfather to call for it. Thor kneels before him, aghast, stomach churning, he spares a sidelong glance at his brother, whose hands appear to be trembling in his shackles. What more did Thor expect? The Allfather demanded Thor bring him back for a punishment - but one so severe? No, he hadn't expected it. It's always been his job, always, to look after Loki. To protect him._

_Even against their own father._

"_No." he says, voice quiet._

"_What?" the Allfather turns to him._

"_I… cannot. Father, you cannot ask this of me."_

"_I can and I have." He rises, "You will proceed without further-"_

"_There must be something else." Thor stands, too._

"_There is nothing-"_

"_I know his reason extends far, father, but this… this is too much. Even for Loki. Is he not your son?"_

_There's a pause. The Allfather looks at him, his single eye blazing - but the heat dies, slowly, slowly. His shoulders hang - and he looks to have aged ten years in that single moment alone._

"_What would you have me do?" he asks._

"_Something, anything else!" Thor takes a step forwards, "Strip him of his powers if you must, but… don't send him away for…"_

"_His memory."_

"_Father?"_

"_Wipe his memory, too. It is one way to ensure it wont happen again. None of it will." The Allfather descends the steps, eye on Loki. "I will cast him out. To Midgard." His lip twitches down, "A mortal he shall be."_

"_Father…"_

"_Does this please you?" He rounds on Thor._

_Who can only nod._

_Loki doesn't look up - his emerald eyes appearing to be unfocussed, staring at the bottommost step of the throne, something indescribable in his demeanor. His hands are curled into tight fists, the muscle in his jaw flexed tight, and the Allfather silently approaches him._

"_It will be done." He says, voice rumbling through the hall. There's a murmur of agreement from somewhere behind them. Thor swallows, looking to his brother._

_Pain - he will feel none of it. That is all that Thor can promise him. _

_But at the blinding light, the sight of his father tearing the muzzle from Loki's bloodied lips, he has to look away._

* * *

Loki lies still, staring at the blank ceiling, trailing a finger over the deep scar on his wrist, another over the scar on his lip. He understands now - or… he thinks he does. He understands as well as he should. He understands enough.

He draws to his feet, quickly. He kicks aside one of the several history books on the floor with a bare foot, and he hurries to the door, he tugs it open, and all but throws himself down the stairs in his haste to get to the bottom. He rips open the complex door, and turns his gaze heavenward.

Grey clouds gather above him, and he watches them, hate seething low in his stomach. Encasing the envy in a silver lining, protecting it, saving it for later. He watches the clouds rumble, merge silently together, flash and shimmer, and his hands remain curled into tight fists at his sides.

A thousand and one unasked questions burn on his tongue, _why did you let me live? Why not kill me or would it not be too merciful? What is it that I have done to earn your gentle hand when all you owe me is cruelty?_

But nothing leaves his lips, and silent tears burn the corners of his eyes, tickling back to his hairline, and a shout - a scream leaves him. A scream to the heavens, one he hopes his father, his brother - each and every Asgardian he once knew hears.

_Why_, he wants to scream, _just tell me why_…

The clouds swirl and shudder, _come back to me_… he thinks, sharply, _come on brother, come back to me_…

Lightning flashes.

_Please…_

His chest aches, his heart feels several sizes too large for his chest, and the wind whips at his hair, steals his tears from his cheeks, and tugs at his clothes. The sky surges, and yet - nothing comes.

His rage swells.

_Is that all that I am to you?_

He brings his hands to his hair, fingers twisting through sandy curls, pulling uselessly. _Answer me!_ He screams internally, he's shaking on the outside. _Just like that mortal, Jane Foster, that you left behind? Do you intend the same for me?_

Another sharp rumble, another flash - and he knows his brother is listening to him.

"Just tell me _WHY!"_

His answer comes from the sky itself, the very ground seems to shake with it as the deep voice rumbles loud and clear for him to hear.

"_You had to be safe.._


	3. Steam and Fire

Thor still dreams of him.

Relentlessly.

He wakes to twisted sheets, drenched in a thin sheen of sweat. Haunting memories of quivering pale thighs, parted lips, bruised hips - taunting him from every angle. He dreams of pressing him down, exposing that porcelain skin to the after-sunset dusk, running his fingers upon every surface, tracing his nails over the dips of his spine, pressing his lips to his skin, kissing him… _everywhere_.

He dreams of fucking him, of spreading his thighs and fucking him until a scream of his name echoes down the hall to any who might be listening because _he's mine, mine, mine, can't have him, all mine.._. and he would keep going, until he was spent. Until they both were, until he spills fast and hot inside him, and he'd fuck himself further inside for good measure, before pulling out, before bundling him into his arms.

Before falling asleep with him, there, against his side, _safe_.

But when he wakes up - in his sleep-churned sheets - he's always alone.

* * *

It's no longer a secret; Heimdall knows, but then again, Thor knew he would. He doesn't breathe a word, not to anyone, not even Thor himself when he does come to ask;

"How is he?"

"Much the same as he was at sunrise."

"What is he doing?"

And Heimdall turns to him, something Thor would almost call _pity_ in his glimmering eyes, but he doesn't respond, he merely faces the endless abyss before them, and gazes down, unseeingly.

A long moment of silence follows, and Thor squints out at the glimmering space before them, as if trying to see the same things he knows Heimdall _can_ - but he sees only darkness.

"Please…" he turns back to him.

Heimdall looks to him, then, face grave (although - is it not always?) something flashes in his eyes, flickers like golden dust - and Thor is blinded, momentarily. A vision swims, surges before him, swells to the surface - bursts to the forefront, the darkness of his eyelids.

It's him - it's Loki. Turning to the skies, all the pain, the anguish Thor hadn't seen, is etched upon his face as he screams to the heavens. As he pleads with him _why_ and Thor swallows, the vision snaps away from him; vanishes as quickly as it has come. He stumbles, head swimming, but he blinks back into focus.

"I need to see him. Send me back."

"No." Heimdall's voice comes sharp, loud.

Thor sets his jaw. Rage bubbling to life within his stomach.

"I am to be king of Asgard and you _will_-"

"You are _not_ king." Heimdall doesn't look at him, "For what you have done, gratitude is all that you owe me."

"Gratitude?" Thor frowns at him.

"For holding my silence."

* * *

There's a knock at his door.

Loki looks up, a frown touching his brow - he doesn't get visitors. Save for the few times he's managed to hold his patience for long enough to order pizza, but this isn't one of those times. He flicks a bookmark in place, and lowers his book, draws away from the rickety wooden table with a scrape of his chair, and strides slowly towards the door.

There's no peephole - absently, he curses himself for that.

"Who's there?" He calls, leaning in toward the wooden frame, listening.

"Landlord."

He tugs the door open - but the five-foot-something, withered and grey-haired landlord isn't who stands there.

No, rather it's a young woman. A young woman with plump lips and rich, glossy red hair that falls in gentle curls down to her shoulders.

"You aren't my landlord." Loki says, narrowing his eyes with conviction.

She doesn't smile. "No. But I'd really like to chat. Do you have coffee?"

With that, she presses past him, striding down the short hallway as if she's been through it a thousand times before, she finds the kitchen in an instant, and the pot is boiling before Loki even has the door closed. He follows her.

"I don't normally let strangers into my home." a blatant lie - he doesn't let _anyone_ into his home, save for certain blonde-haired individuals, but now that Loki thinks on it - he hadn't been granted entry, either.

"No coffee. Hm." She clicks her tongue. "Tea is fine, I guess. Is Earl Grey all you have in here?"

"Who are you?"

"A friend." she smiles, at last, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "A concerned friend."

But that smile - it's enough.

Like it had before, it comes back to him in a rush - hits him square in the chest, in fact.

He remembers her, he remembers her red hair, a flash of vibrant colour against a grey-wash canvas of buildings, riding on the back of something that never belonged to her, holding something she had no right to hold, closing the portal for him, smirking at him through a wall of glass, and the rage is there - it swells inside of him.

...and she notices.

"Not up for tea? All right then."

"Natasha."

There's a pause. A long pause. He feels her freeze in place, hears the kettle signal it's completion with a dull _click!_ but neither of them move. He's looking at her, watching something unfamiliar flicker through her gaze. Her stance visibly shifts - he's a fool if he thinks she's unarmed.

"Where is he?"

"Fury?"

"My brother."

Another pause, she's surprised - distantly, he wonders why.

"At home." She murmurs, "_Your_ home."

"I have no _home_." he spits the word, she doesn't flinch.

"What do you want from him?"

"I want to talk. I want to…"

"To...?"

"Talk." He meets her gaze, "That is all. Inform him myself how faulty his father's _pathetic_ magic is."

"I can't… let you do that, Loki." She tells him, voice still level, still soft. "You're gonna have to come with me. Either follow, or I'll make you follow."

The steam from the kettle billows behind her, curling above her head, as if her hair truly might be fire.

Loki says nothing, grinds his teeth together.

His hand shoots out for her, fingers curling into a fist, snapping out for her, cutting through the air in a graceful curve.

He's fast - but she's faster.

She's out of the way in an instant, he hears the click of her weapon, her _gun_, but it doesn't stop him.

His hand doesn't stop moving, uncurls from it's fist for the handle of the kettle, and he rips it from it's boiler, tears it from it's place, throws it in a harsh snap of his arm towards her - the gun goes off, fires bluntly - but it misses him.

All he hears is her _scream_.

* * *

"Heimdall sent word."

"Yes, father?"

The first thing that grips him is worry - he had been certain Heimdall would hold his silence. He had been assured of that with the guardian's words, if his father knows, he wont be able to see Loki again - nor hear word of him at all. But there's not disappointment in his father's gaze, no… there's something more, something else, something… unfamiliar.

Thor stands before him, they're alone - and that is how he knows something isn't right. When the Allfather speaks, there is always an audience. But here - they're entirely alone. His voice echoes to the far ends of the hall, the walls, usually lined with glimmering-golden guards, are bare. The floors unblemished, it feels too large. It feels far too large, and at the same time - it's stifling. As if the walls are closing in about them.

But Thor dips to his knee regardless of their assembly (or lack thereof). The hammer beside him, humming it's quiet magic, his, _his_.

"Something has… triggered Loki's memory. Or… so it may appear." The Allfather's voice is a low rumble, a wheeze. It's paining him merely to _speak_.

Thor's lips part, but no words come to him.

"I fear that… my magic may be waning, Thor, I…" He sighs, slouched over in his throne, "I fear it has… slipped… over Loki. I cannot go back, I cannot… return to Midgard, I… do not possess the strength to return."

"Allow me, father." Thor looks up, "Allow me to-"

"Yes, yes, I…" He lifts a frail hand, and Thor can see it… trembling. He wets his lips, worry sparking to life within him once more.

"I have let… my _affections_… cloud my judgement." He shakes his head, as if… disappointed, in _himself_.

Thor watches, wordlessly. (Afraid)

"If I may… promise you… it will not happen again.


	4. Frost and Water

He's running.

He knows its not smart, he knows they'll catch him - but it's all that's left for him to do. A part of him - he doesn't know how big (or small) - had twisted in sympathy for Natasha as he had fled. He had heard her coming after him, but upon glancing back - there's no-one following him. He's running - sprinting - down a deserted street. A woman with a pram gives him a perplexed look as he bolts past, a teenage boy with a football in hand watches him from across the street with a frown - and Loki keeps glancing back. But he's not being followed.

His heart is beating rabbit-fast in his chest, his feet are flying off the concrete, he feels sweat beginning to pool as it drips down his spine, he feels it at his temples, his breath comes fast, tearing at his throat as he pulls each burning lungful in - and all the while, his thoughts are empty. Only _escape_ and _run_ seem to cloud his mind and he follows those hushed whispers because that's all that's left in him to do.

He doesn't know where he's going or who he's running from - all he knows is he can't slow down and he can't stop. Its too late for that now.

* * *

"Director Fury?"

"Natash-"

"Look, I lost him, you're going to have to-"

"You _what?_"

"I lost him. I fucking lost him, all right? I… I don't know where he's going. But he knows. He knew my name. I don't know how."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. I-"

"Natasha."

That voice is different, buzzing in sharply over the receiver, but there's no mistaking it, and her heart skips a beat, she draws in a sharp breath, and drags a shaking hand over her eyes, "Clint." She says, softer now, "I'm okay, I'm fine."

"Nat, the last time you told me that you had an eight inch knife half way to your kidney. Give it to me straight. Little Clint can take it."

She manages a breathless laugh at that, despite herself, "I'm alright, Clint. He… he threw some water on me. Nothing little Nat can't take." She hears him bark a laugh. "But he hasn't got his powers. I feel like he would've done more than a little hot water if that's the case."

"What did he tell you?" Its Fury again.

"He didn't say anything. He just wants to talk to Thor. That's all I got from him."

A pause.

"_Hot_ water, did you say?"

"Clint-"

"I knew we shouldn't have sent her in alone."

"Clint-"

"He's a nutcase."

"Clint, I'm fine."

A sigh, Natasha's fairly certain it's come from Fury.

"Director?" She prompts, hopeful. She staggers to her feet, hair damp with the water, cooled to a relative warmth now, she sweeps it back from her neck, and glances down at herself - her chest is red raw, her neck feels as if its swollen, she knows it'll all only get worse once the healing process starts. The reddest skin will turn to blisters. She grits her teeth at the grim realization.

"Leave it."

She blinks.

"You're in no condition to go after him. There's only one other who can stop him, I just gotta hope he still gives a shit about us."

"Thor?"

"Who the hell else?"

Clint falls silent again, and Natasha winces as she tests her fingers.

"Clint, go get Natasha. I'm calling Stark. He might have a solution or two to this." she hears his line go dead.

"Hangin' in there, Nat?" Clint asks.

She smiles.

"I'm doing fine."

A short breath.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

He can't say how far he gets, only that the sun has gone down and his knees are shaking beneath him, he stumbles once, twice, long past the suburban houses, he barely knows where he is, trees surround him, now, rocks are beneath his feet and shrubbery drags at his ankles as he pushes through the dense undergrowth.

A root snags at the toe of his shoe and he fumbles, falls blindly in a heap to the grassy ground, he tells himself to get back up again, he struggles to stand, palms pushing uselessly into the dirt, but his legs refuse him, refuse to respond to him, and he gives up with a final huff of breath.

He's panting into the dry grass, eyes half-lidded, vision hazy and clouded over. He curls his hands into fists around the dry leaves, he's not being followed - at least he knows that. If he were - they would have found him by now. He closes his eyes - just… to listen…

He hears the distant song of a bird, the faint whistle of a soft breeze, a far off engine starting up, but nothing more.

A sigh leaves him, and Loki lets his eyes close… he falls asleep - and he knows its not wise, but its all he finds it in himself to do.

* * *

He wakes sluggishly. A gentle rocking rhythm rouses him, and he blinks blearily awake - trees swing somewhere high above him, branches waving at the twinkling stars and half-moon, it's mid-month, he can tell - he can tell just by looking at the moon… He smiles lazily up at the sky, before his eyes snap open.

He struggles, blindly.

"Calm, brother." A deep voice rumbles, "Hush."

Arms, there are arms around him, and they squeeze him soothingly, and he draws in a sharp breath of astonishment - he's back, _the nerve!_

"Don't look at me like that, I'm taking you somewhere nicer to rest." He smiles to himself, like he's irreversibly pleased, "Nicer than with spiders and dying leaves, I know my brother well enough to know a mouth full of spiders isn't much to his liking."

"Where are you taking me?" he finds his voice at last, and it wavers between them.

Something flickers over Thor's brow, an inner moment of turmoil, before he gives Loki another squeeze. "Somewhere quieter."

They lapse into a brief silence, something that stands a sharp contrast to the speed Loki's mind is whirling at. There are countless things he wants to say, to do - to perhaps struggle more, to beat at his chest, to throw an ill-timed punch, to blame him for this - for this miserable, mortal existence, for what he had done to Loki those nights ago… but not a sound leaves him.

It's as though each and every thought is trying to push it's way free at once, only to be held together with a soft silence in a neatly-tied bow.

"I want to go home." he says, at last.

He looks at Thor as he says it, and again, he sees something odd flicker over his brow, before he shakes his head.

"You do not."

"Why?" he asks, "What waits for me there? Is it worse? Is it worse than my fate here?" he asks, a demanding rush.

Thor falls silent.

"Tell me." he hisses.

At last - he looks down at Loki.

"Do you remember… do you remember what father said to you-"

"_Your_ father." He murmurs, bitterly.

A sigh.

"...what father said to you before he sent you to Midgard?"

Loki pauses to think, and it flashes back to him in far too many colours for him to prefer.

"Yes." He whispers, softly.

"That is what he intends for you."

They come to a quiet clearing, and Thor sets him down by a fallen tree, urges him to sit upon the log, before he settles down beside him.

"But I wont allow it."

Loki faces him, eyes wide.

"What?"

"Father is… old. He's getting weaker, Loki." He looks at him, "Mother says it wont be long until he enters the Odinsleep again, and… once he does, I will take you home. But I will _not_ have you punished as he would."

Loki frowns. "...why?"

"Because you are my brother."

He draws sharply to his feet, "I'm your brother yet you would have me sent here where I have no memory of my old life - my life with _you_ - but you would not have me take the punishment your father offers?"

His eyes burn a brilliant emerald as he faces him, and Thor's features only soften further, and rage is all thats wells to life in Loki's stomach.

"Why did you do it?" He hisses, "You came to me - and you… tell me _why._" he demands.

"Loki…" Thor begins.

"No!" He snaps, "No… please… just… no.." he deflates. "Just… tell me."

He's exhausted - but he thinks… they both are.

Where they stand now - it's eerily similar to the last time they met in Midgard. Only Stark had been there, as had Steve Rogers, Thor's friends…

But this time was different.

Thor stands. He steps before him, and reaches for him. His fingertips find Loki's chin, and he tilts his face up, he smiles down at him. His hand drifts up further, and he grasps the tip of a ringlet of Loki's hair, he gives it a soft tug, and it springs back into it's curl, he chuckles, quietly.

"I like this." He says, softly, tugging on another curl.

"You haven't… answered my question-"

"We have time, brother." He murmurs, stepping in closer, Loki steps away, but a hand closes around his hip, and his back touches the trunk of a tree, and he freezes in place. "We have plenty of time."

Thor leans in, then, and Loki barely has the chance to draw in a breath before their lips touch - and at first it's gentle, an experimental brush of lips - a touch that sends an unfamiliar bolt of warmth down his spine to pool low in his stomach and he muffles out a soft sound of dissent, but Thor's lips are warm. They're soft, chapped, barely, around the edges, and Loki finds himself pressing into them eagerly.

That hand about his waist tightens, he feels his brother's blunt fingertips pressing into the dip of his spine through his thin shirt, and the kiss deepens. His lips part beneath Thor's and a tongue presses into him, he tastes him - and he's bitter and sweet at the same time, like burnt honey, and Loki's hand reaches up for his shoulder, his other tangles through his wild, soft, hair.

He hears him groan, low, a rumbling sound that shudders through him - through both of them - and leaves him quivering. Thor steps in closer, their crotches brush together, and he _grinds_ into him, and Loki breaks the kiss, a sharp gasp leaving him, as Thor trails searing kisses down to the hinge of his jaw, where he _bites_. Teeth sinking into his skin. A calloused hand dips beneath the hem of his shirt, touches his pale abdomen, skims up to his sternum.

"Brother.." Thor exhales.

"Please…" Loki gasps, "Touch me - _please_…"

That other hand dips beneath his shirt, sweeps around to the small of his back, only to smooth lower, to tug loosely at the waistband of his trousers, where it dips eagerly beneath, to grip his backside. Taking a fleshy mound in hand, he kneads it, eagerly, and Loki turns his face into Thor's neck - a soft cry leaves him.

"Anything.." Thor is murmuring, "Anything…"

He draws back, but only far enough for his other hand to close around Loki - to curve around him, around the pressing warmth at the zipper of his trousers, and he gasps again, he finds his hands and tugs blindly at Thor's trousers, fumbling with the fastenings, with the buckles, before a hand closes around his wrists, and draws them away.

Loki blinks up at him as Thor brings them to his lips, kisses each knuckle tenderly, before releasing him. "Not today, brother." He murmurs, but Loki barely frowns, before he forgets entirely as a hand closes around him, as it grips his arousal, strokes him in a rough hold he's almost used to.

He shudders against him, both hands gripping onto his shoulders, nails digging into his fine armour.

"More," he gasps, "...please.."

"Anything." Thor breathes, back. "Anything for you, brother."

Loki arches beneath him, hips pushing up, cock pressing wetly past Thor's fingertips, flushed and pink, slick with precome. He feels like he's ready to burst.

"...want you, so much." Thor is whispering, "Wanted you… so long. So beautiful, brother… so beautiful."

"F-Fuck me - please, _please_.." he whispers, head tipping forwards, pressing his brow to his brother's shoulder, a sob is torn from him as Thor gives a rather sharp twist and pull, and he shudders. "Please-"

But Thor makes no response, his strokes increase, his palm grips and kneads at Loki's backside, and the warmth fills him, that coil low in his stomach tightens, and spills over - his grip on Thor turns tight, turns vicious, his head tips back, and he cries out as he spills between them - over his brother's fingers, onto his armor, onto the hem of his own shirt, and he's gasping, gripping onto him sharply as he comes.

He slumps down when he's done - heartbeat ringing in his ears, hands falling slack against him, he puffs out another short breath, before Thor is gathering him into his arms, wiping his hand against the side of the tree, and Loki lets him - feeling not unlike a ragdoll as he's carried to a soft gathering of fallen leaves, Thor draws off his rich, red cloak, and settles it onto the leaf-covered ground, he settles Loki over it, and eases in beside him, drawing the cloak over them - Loki, mostly. It barely reaches him.

"Rest." He murmurs, to him. Reaching down under the cloak to tuck Loki back into his trousers, and his fingertips creep up, brush Loki's hair from his eyes before he tangles a hand through his soft curls with a fond smile. "We have plenty of time, brother." He whispers, leaning in to kiss his temple. "...for everything."

* * *

"So let me get this straight."

A sigh of frustration leaves him, and Fury kneads his brow.

"Daddy dolls out a little more than a slap on the hand and the big mighty thunder-lord comes running back here with his tail between his legs to rescue his little shit of a brother from the punishment he goddamn well and truly deserves?"

"In a nutshell… yes."

"Huh." A pause. "For a thunder god you'd think he'd have bigger balls than that."

Another sigh.

"What do you need me to do?"

"They're in your neck of the woods, Stark. Bring Dr. Banner if you must. Just… talk him into taking Loki home. Tell him we wont mind a bit what they decide to do, so long as it's not done _here_."

"What makes you think they'll listen to me?"

"Roders told me you said you were a genius. Figure it out."

The line goes dead.

Tony draws a heavy sigh, and leans back, narrowing his eyes in deliberation, bringing his fingertips to tap at his lips in thought. He likes Thor. More than likes him - Tony's good with words - perhaps they're all he'll need.

Well, all words aside - certain situations had logical solutions - solutions that could be made a great deal quicker when guns thicker than his thigh were brought into the question.

"JARVIS!" He calls, a smile already tugging at his lips.

_Oh, this'll be fun._


	5. Leaves and Heat

**A/N**: I should say, before we get to the new chapter - thank you all for your wonderful, _wonderful_, reviews! They have all been so kind and encouraging! Please let me know how you like this chapter! c:

* * *

He wakes to the sound of birds.

It's rather confusing, to say the least - all things considered. He shifts over, and Thor is still there. Eyes closed, chest rising and falling with his sleepy breaths. His expression is relaxed, a lock of blonde hair curls over his adam's apple, and Loki smiles gently. It might even be… a welcome sight.

One of his strong arms is draped over Loki's narrow waist, keeping them close together. The velvet cape settles over Loki, barely over his brother's arm, and he reaches up gently - ghosts his fingertips over a cheekbone, marveling at the smoothness of his skin, at the soft scrape of stubble as his fingers drift lower.

The pad of his thumb drags gently over Thor's lower lip, and his eyelids flutter. He murmurs quietly, and shifts, arm tightening around Loki's waist, before they flutter open, and focus upon him - so very blue they almost glow, so blue they're flooding. He smiles.

"Loki." He murmurs, like he's surprised - surprised Loki is _still here_.

But he's still curious - still has a thousand and one burning questions on the tip of his tongue, and while he might know that it isn't wise to prod at a barely-awake Thor, he needs answers.

"Tell me why." He murmurs.

Thor frowns, his hand curls around to the small of Loki's back, fingers drawing absent circles in his skin beneath his thin shirt.

"Why what, brother?"

"All this." Loki swallows, "Father sent you here for me, did he not?" He watches Thor's expression - watches it shift, and the way the knit to his brows smoothes out, he knows.

"He did." he realizes, "Why aren't you taking me back? I would think all the magic your father could muster would have left him-"

"-weak." Thor grits his teeth, Loki sees the muscle in his jaw flex. "Yes." he closes his eyes again.

"Why are you not taking me back?" he asks, a whisper.

For a long moment, Thor says nothing. A warm breeze rolls past them, dry leaves rustle on the forest's floor, the branches above them sway, the scent of dew and bracken brushes past them, the low song of a bird is carried off by the wind. But they're alone here.

"I…" Thor exhales a shaking breath, "...cannot."

"Why?" Loki prompts, reaching up, touching his cheek, "If not that then… why are you doing this for me? After all I have done… why are you still so kind?" That hand around the small of his back tightens, "Why did you kiss me?" He whispers, "Why did you… _touch_ me? Are we not… _brothers_?"

He sees Thor visibly wince at the word, eyes drifting open again, something unreadable in his endless blue eyes - and again, Loki feels like he might be drowning. The bird-song grows closer, a leaf brushes over the back of Loki's hand, he shifts, his knee brushes Thor's.

"Loki…" he murmurs.

"Tell me." He urges, softly.

The bird falls silent, the leaves rustle again, but fall still. A frown touches Thor's brow again, but when his lips part, no words come. Loki says nothing, waits, eagerly, anticipation twirling in his stomach.

A sharp crash tears him away, though. Just like that - he feels himself being swept under Thor's arm, his strong hand pressed into the curve of Loki's waist as he all but drags him to his feet, leaves crunching beneath them as they struggle. Thor shoves him, pushes him until Loki is half hidden behind him, and before them - once he manages to peer past his brother's arm - stands a man clad in a red-and-gold suit.

Intact - and Loki can only remember when said suit had been chipped and cracked; half ready to malfunction.

"Alright, let's make this quick, Point Break." The mask eases back, slides off Tony Stark's face, and back into the mechanics of his suit, he looks exactly how Loki remembers him - perhaps a little thinner, though in the suit; Loki can't be sure. "I wanna go home, and I bet you do too. Fury's not impressed, you're little brother tried to give Natasha a coffee bath and that is just… so not on." he strides slowly towards them as he speaks.

Thor only presses Loki further back.

"I got no problem with you, though. Seriously. You're… pretty fun. All things considered." He shrugs, "I would've liked this reunion to be a little better." but then he looks to Loki, "It's your little brother I'm not too fond of. Isn't there somewhere you two should be? Like… I don't know - another planet?"

"Loki is no threat to you here, he means you no harm." Thor says, firmly. "He has no magic. Our father took it from him he-"

"He knows, big guy. He remembers everything. He might not have magic, but what's stopping him from discovering the wonders of modern technology? It doesn't take much to wipe out a human race, even without the use of magic fairy dust." Tony says, softly. There's a pause, and the humor fades from his eyes, "I'd know."

"Tell him, Loki.." Thor turns to him. "Tell him that you don't mean to harm anyone."

Loki looks up at him, his lips part, but-

"I'm just the messenger here, all right? Fury said pack it in and go home. Do whatever you like back in Asgard-land, just… don't involve us in any more brotherly-fighting. The last time you did, half a city got destroyed, and you didn't have to deal with the consequences." he prods a finger at Thor, "Consider this your first warning. If you're not gone by tomorrow, Clint might have a thing or two to say about it. I don't think Steve's all that pleased, either." he adds.

Another pause, and then;

"Fury gave me this."

He holds up his left arm, a latch slides back from his armour, eases way for a wide silver tube that rises out of it's socket, the tip of it glows with a soft blue fire.

"I'm hoping I wont need to use it." He looks up, his gaze settles upon Thor, "Don't give me a reason, big guy, alright?"

Loki sees Thor visibly swallow.

"I don't want anyone else getting hurt." The silver tube eases back beneath his armour, and the latch slides back into place, smoothing into the surface of his armour again.

He gives Thor a long look, before he turns away.

The mask of his helmet snaps back into place, and a soft blue light brightens in the palms of his hands as he extends his fingers upon either side of him - there's a moment, before the dry leaves swirl at his feet, and he's off the ground - hovering inches above it, before - with a puff of smoke and flame - he soars higher, over the treetops and well out of their sight.

They say nothing. Not until Tony sweeps past the treetops, and the sound of his suit fades into the distance.

"Thor-"

"Tell me you do not mean to harm anyone."

"I-"

"Tell me." Thor turns to him, a hand closes around Loki's upper arm, "Brother, I… what waits for you in Asgard is no better than what Tony might wish for you. You cannot stay here."

"Where is there for me to go?" Loki asks, softly. "Nowhere." he whispers. "I have nowhere, brother."

"You have me." Thor's hold on him tightens, until it's almost bruising, "...and I will not leave you until I know you are safe." his eyes burn in all their intensity, gazing into Loki's, firm. "Tell me you intend no more danger, no more trouble. Please."

"Brother…" he breathes. He swallows.

"Loki. Look at me."

He looks up again.

"Swear it."

He parts his lips - and says nothing, but Thor only gazes him down. Daring him to look away.

"I swear." He whispers.

...and Thor visibly relaxes. A smile draws over his lips - bright and unassuming, like they've both stepped back a decade, and Thor is nothing more than a grinning child with a stick for a sword.

"Good. I… thank you, Loki." and Thor steps in, steps closer to him, sweeps him in for a deep embrace, both arms wound tightly around Loki's back, holding him close, squeezing him against him. As he draws back, slowly, he takes his cloak from Loki's hands - sweeps it back over his shoulders.

"Come." Thor urges him, undeterred by his silence, "We cannot stay here." He swallows again, "I want to speak with Director Fury for myself, he needs to… needs to understand." he says, firmly.

Loki only nods.

He's beside himself, really.

He's forgotten how _easy_ it is to lie


	6. Old Friends and Broken Glass

**A/N**: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you're all enjoying it! Especially those of you who have hung around from the start! c: please tell me your thoughts! and I can promise you smut very shortly! Enjoy!

* * *

They're walking.

He can't quite say why it fills him with this odd semblance of calm; hearing the leaves crumple like paper beneath his feet, brushing past twigs and leaves, listening to the distant song of a high up bird, and the lingering perfume of dew and bracken that hangs like a humid warmth in the cool air - but he is at ease.

He knows where they're going, and anticipation burns through his veins like a growing fire. _Not much longer now…_

"What makes you so sure Tony Stark will even let us in?" He asks, after their long silence becomes too much.

Thor doesn't answer immediately.

"I need to speak with him." He says, gruffly. "Alone."

"...and if he still refuses you?" Loki blinks at the back of his brother's head.

Another pause.

"Then I will enforce the necessary means to convince him."

Loki smiles, faintly. "You'll threaten him?"

A beat.

"Yes."

Loki chuckles, softly. "Ah, brother. You haven't changed. How many times has your father reminded you that violence isn't always the answer?"

Thor turns back to glance at him, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

"Too many." He sends back, "It is why I keep forgetting."

Loki shakes his head with a bemused grin, and turns his gaze back to the uneven ground beneath them, but a hand settles upon the small of his back.

"It is good to see you smile, brother." Thor murmurs to him, drawing him against his side - their bodies touching in a warm line. "It is good to see my brother again." and he reaches up with his other hand, cuffs Loki's cheek with the backs of his fingers. He smiles, softly. Cheeks dimpling gently.

"I have missed you, Loki."

"Truly?" Loki lifts his brows.

"We all have." Thor murmurs, and his hand slides up Loki's back, he takes a curl of his sandy hair in hand, and gives it a tug, it springs back into place, "Even if your hair looks to be made of straw."

Loki laughs, and gives him a shove - Thor stumbles back a step, chuckling at him.

Too much lies between them unsaid, but for now - this is enough.

* * *

Their walk drags on what feels like far too long. Conversation dwindles, but Thor remains firmly at Loki's side. Their shoulders brush, their hands touch - Thor will reach out for him, brush his fingers to his cheek, press back a stray lock of hair, or simply smile - as if he's reassuring himself that Loki is still present. Still with him. That he isn't some fabricated dream or fractured illusion, that he's _real_. Loki lets him, smiles and lets him - tells himself to play along, for he must.

Though once more; he breaks their silence.

"Mjolnir sits at your waist, brother. Unused." He says, a huff, "Could we not make this easier upon everyone?" He asks.

"Father… father wished for this to be… to be a quiet affair." Thor tells him.

Loki laughs, once.

"When have you ever listened to father?"

"I haven't."

He looks up. But Thor isn't smiling.

"I haven't. It's why we are here and not home. Where we belong."

"Where _you_ belong." Loki murmurs.

"_We_." Thor says, through gritted teeth, "You are my brother. I have no other place but at your side. My home is your home."

"I am _not_ your brother." Loki hisses, "I never was."

"Loki," Thor growls, "...enough of this, _enough!_" and his hand darts out, closes around Loki's arm, above his elbow, fingers digging into the thick muscle there, and his mouth opens in quiet protest, silently stifling the pain - the ache it sends, shooting up his arm.

Thor's blue eyes bore into his own, something unreadable bursting for freedom -

"Say what you will but nothing will change the fact that I always have, and always shall lo-.."

A whistling _swish-thunk!_ zips past them, and Thor falls silent - freezes. Loki's eyes go wide, he can see the feathered tail of an arrow beside his temple, quivering in the wide trunk of the oak behind him.

"...Barton." he breathes.

"Come." Thor tugs him closer, roughly, "Run."

"Mjolnir!" he snaps, and Thor growls.

But he's unhinging the hammer from his waist, his arm is curling tightly about Loki's middle - and there is yet another _swish-thunk!/em_ as an arrow narrowly misses Loki's thigh, but Thor's arm sweeps out, rises up, and the ground lurches - bottoms out from between them as Loki closes his eyes tightly, and they ascend sharply. The wind beats past them viciously, whips at his clothes, at his thin shirt and too-large jeans. Both his arms wind tightly around Thor's middle and he holds on, nuzzling his face into the bend of his brother's neck as his lips turn dry with the sharp sting of the air around them.

He wants to look - for there is nothing quite so breathtaking as watching his brother wield Mjolnir like this - eyes fixed, determined to the top of the hammer, jaw set, hair billowing back against the sharp onslaught of wind.

It is when Loki remembers that _he's a god_.

He dares open his eyes, and beneath them, the city surges. The vapid and grey city he remembers hovers below them like a withering worm's nest - and isn't it just? Filled with monogamy, where the person beside you upon the cobblestone barely spares you a glance. Where people dressed in white-and-grey rush from place to place and speak curtly into buzzing black devices held to their cheeks.

They make no sense to him - they live in disorder. Their leaders are as vapid as they are.

Stark tower looms before them, and Loki's hold upon Thor tightens, he feels the strong arm about his waist, and he is reassured. Though his brother wastes little time upon entry.

"Close your eyes." He instructs over the howl of wind, and Loki obliges - the last thing he sees is the glinting glass window panes of the Stark Tower rushing towards them - he hears the ear-splitting _smash!_ and feels the sharp whip of shattered glass as it rains about them, but they slow - they slow rapidly as they falter to a stop. They land, clumsily, in the marble foyer Loki remembers a little too well - his gaze is drawn instantly to the even floor before the bar, and his eyebrows shoot up as he staggers for balance.

The marble is still fractured - a picture-perfect outline of Loki's body remains impressed into the ground - but that's not all. Stark has taken the time to implant a glass box around the indent like a display in an art gallery, with a plaque settled elegantly before it that reads;

'_He pissed off the big guy'._

...in crisp cursive.

"Er…"

"Seriously?"

The pair of them turn, sharply, Stark is indeed there - sporting a black eye and wearing an oil-stained shirt and grey trousers.

"I just had that goddamn thing replaced after your brother shot his idiotic helmet through it and now you throw your hammer into it. Seriously, does your family not understand the concept of a front door?"

But Thor isn't listening to him, he advances sharply upon Stark like a lion to prey.

"You sent Agent Barton after us." He accuses, gruffly.

"You saw Clint?"

"He attacked us."

"Then you must have been doing something that pissed him off, and I think I know what might have twigged him." Tony doesn't back down, narrows his eyes despite his smaller stature, and stands firm. "Why are you two still here? Thought I told you to take reindeer-games and go home."

"We cannot."

"Why not? You spent enough years there before this shitstorm. Don't they miss you yet?"

"I need to speak with the director." Thor tells him, voice weakening, losing it's heat. "But we are… weary. Travel has not been easy."

"...you expect me to play host to you and your psycho-murderer brother?"

"I-…"

"Half of Nat's face is covered in bandages, and while she'll lie through the skin of her teeth that she's fine, I know she isn't. Clint has every goddamn right to be firing arrows. Give me one good reason why I should do this for you."

"If it were not for me, your tower would not be standing."

"If it weren't for you, people I knew would still be people I _know_." Tony shoots back.

There's a long moment of silence, and Thor visibly deflates.

"What else you got? Because, please. Tell me how I owe you anything, when you've taken so much from _all of us_?"

"Please…" he whispers, "All we need is a night. Then Loki and I shall be gone."

A long silence, anger colours Tony's face, lit by the soft glow of the reactor in his chest, before he too, deflates. A sigh eases through him, and his gaze settled to the cracked marble beneath them. When he looks up again - his dark eyes are firm.

"For old time's sake." He whispers. "Steve's been staying here, too. I'll talk to him. Don't go upstairs, Bruce works up there. Seeing reindeer-games over there might set the big guy off - hey." he looks to Loki, and gestures the glass display, "Thoughts? We thought it was a fantastic souvenir." he winks, but his smile fades as he turns his back, "Pep's old room is through there." he gestures vaguely towards a set of double doors.

"You can stay there. But by morning, I expect a long voicemail from Fury and no sign of either of you." He tosses, over his shoulder. "JARVIS'll be on it. Touch anything else and I'll know."

Then; he's gone.

Silence follows them, before Loki reaches out for Thor. "Shall we, then?" He asks, but Thor looks to him - and there's nothing but guilt swelling through his features, he nods before long. Resettles Mjolnir at his waist, and guides Loki towards the mahogany doors.

Distantly; Loki wonders how much of this very large home Stark could _truly_ keep track of


	7. Breath and Touch

**A/N**: Again, thank you all so, so much for your stunning reviews and messages c': they keep my fire alive! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know your thoughts/feels! and excuse me while I sleep for an eternity and a half! xx

* * *

The room inside is hollow. Plush, cream carpet cushions their boots, a bed with crisp white sheets and a mahogany frame is settled in the center, the headboard is pressed to the pale wall, two bedside tables sit on each side, both with nothing but dust upon them, and a door leads off into what Loki can only guess must be a bathroom. There is a dresser, and one of those odd, black, picture-boxes with a remote settled upon it to turn it on. It's big - in fact it's so big it nearly takes up an entire wall, and Loki eyes it with distaste. The room is lit in a soft glow from the empty streets far below, and the moonlight high above.

But a hand upon the small of his back is enough for him to forget that it's even there, and he turns.

But Thor isn't looking at him, he's closing the door after them, and keeping his gaze fixed upon the end of the bed. He's tired, Loki can see that he's tired. There are shadows beneath his eyes, and his lips are drawn tight.

"Loki." He murmurs, quietly, he looks up, "Loki, I… I do not want you to... to worry." He pauses, and swallows. "I will… I will keep you safe. I… I promise to."

Loki blinks at him.

"I want you to tell me something."

"Yes." Thor nods, earnestly, "Anything."

"...you touch me. You kiss me." He steps back, away from the hand upon him, and Thor watches him, bewildered. "...and I want to know why."

"...Loki-"

"No. Don't… don't do that. Just tell me." He clenches his hands into fists, "Tell me why you are still with me - why you haven't gone home. Back to your father. Tell me what I have done to make you come back for me? Or is it me that you are even here for? Father sent you. How else would you have made it back to me?" he shakes his head. "What did he ask you to do to me?"

Thor doesn't answer. He doesn't look up.

"I have a right to know. Tell me."

"It would be better if-"

"If I knew. Death may be too kind, but ignorance is torture."

Thor steps forward again, and with a distant _thud_, Mjolnir drops to the floor. Kisses the soft carpet beneath it, cushioned there, like it's a whole new throne. But Thor's hands are upon him, once more.

"I cannot lose you." he murmurs, his hands tighten upon Loki, he draws him closer, presses him to him, firm. "I will _not_ lose you." and he says his words with such vehement force, that he gives Loki a soft shake. He leans in,s lowly - hesitantly. As if he's afraid Loki will turn away, and he kisses him. Another almost familiar warm press of lips, gentle, accented by a sharp scrape of stubble, Loki opens beneath him - although he cannot say why - and parts his lips, Thor tastes of rain, of thunder - and somewhere far away. Loki's heart is hammering, it's all he can hear, it's so loud - he wonders if Thor can hear it too.

Though he places a hand upon his brother's chest, and his heart is racing just the same.

Thor guides him blindly back, and Loki breaks the kiss with a soft gasp as his back connects softly with the wall beside the low bedside table. Thor presses him into it, hands roaming over him, finding the hem of his shirt, and slipping beneath it - his calloused touch soothes over Loki's skin, kissed with goosebumps, he shudders beneath the touch.

"You are my brother, and I…" he kisses the hollow of Loki's throat, "...I cannot lose you." he whispers, breath washing over Loki's neck, he exhales beneath him, he feels a knee press between his own, and Thor pushes his legs apart, steps between, though his hands both fold up his chest. Past his sternum, until the thin material is rucked around his wrists, folded up to Loki's chest. He tips his head back, presses it against the wall.

He can see Thor looking at him, head tipped down, admiring his pale chest in the darkness, like it's a sight he's been dreaming of for too long - he soothes his hands over Loki's shoulders, beneath the material, before he grunts softly. Tugs at the material sharply, and Loki lifts his arms. Thor peels it carefully from him, and the moment it is cast aside, his hands descend upon him again. Thumbs brushing briefly over pert, pink nipples, they drift lower, until they pause at the lip of his trousers.

"...might I… please.." he whispers, looking imploringly down at Loki, he only nods, looks away once more as Thor fumbles with his belt, tugs it sharply open, and fights briefly with the little button of his jeans within his thick fingers, he gets it undone, and tears the zipper down, before he's pulling the loose denim from Loki's thin hips, he steps out of them, and his shoes, but before he can lean back. Thor's hands close about his hips, turn him sharply until the wall is pressed to his chest, and both of Loki's hands come up to brace himself against the wall, though his cheek is pressed against it - he gasps quietly.

"Beautiful, brother.." Thor whispers to him, greedy hands soothing down his sides, his hips press into Loki's backside, the thin material of his underwear catches against Thor's belt, and he growls quietly from behind him. Those large hands roam to his backside, grip the fleshy globes firmly, and knead them, squeeze them, fingertips digging into his skin until Loki's lips part, and another sharp gasp leaves him.

"Mine." Thor whispers, and presses his lips to Loki's shoulder, but a scrape of teeth draws him back, and Thor _bites_. He tips his head back with a sharp cry, but Thor presses firmer into him, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband of his underthings, tugging them down as if they're little more than a hinderance, and there's a faint rustle from behind him.

Loki turns his head enough to see the velvet cloak drop to the carpet in a shimmering heap, hears a zipper coming undone, sees his brother's tunic drop to the floor, landing by Mjolnir, and the click of a belt buckle has his eyes closing tightly again.

But little more than a moment later, those hands return to him, moving over his skin like they're mapping each curve and scar, like he's permitting every inch of the pale expanse of his porcelain skin to memory, and Loki lets him. Why is he letting him? _Why is he not objecting?_

"Spread your legs." Thor tells him, gruffly, and Loki does as he says, shuffling his feet a little wider, he tilts his hips back, his spine arched, and he feels only skin press into him. Thor's chest is pressed to his back, his hips to his ass, something warm and hot and _hard_ is pressed flush between them, against the cleft of Loki's backside.

"...want you." he whispers, "..so bad… wanted… all of you…" he dusts a hand down Loki's abdomen, finds his cock - and he's half-hard. He sucks in a sharp breath as Thor begins to stroke him, he feels a sharp rush of heat, pooling into his stomach. A warm coil pulling tight, and he's pressing his hips back more, pressing back into his brother's cock. He wants it.

"...never knew - you… you never even knew…" he's still whispering, stroking Loki, other hand rising to his chest, pinching a pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger, it tears a sharp cry from Loki.

"...fuck me." he whispers, sharply, "Please - brother, just-…"

Thor's hands draw back from him, from his arousal, to his backside. He feels his thumbs dig into his skin, spreading him enough to see - and Loki presses his forehead to the cold wall as a flush creeps over his cheeks. But then - the touch is gone. He hears the drawer beside him being tugged open, and a mumble of "...knowing Tony it'll have to be-…" before Thor finds a tube of half-empty _something_ and brings it out of Loki's sight. He hears it being flicked open, and then tossed aside upon the bedsheets. Something cold brushes between his cheeks, and Loki jolts with another gasp, and Thor hushes him quietly.

"Brother," he whispers, "Kiss me, Loki - look at me." and he turns his head enough to meet Thor's lips in a kiss as that first finger presses inside him. Thick and wide, it meets with little resistance. He sinks into him to the knuckle of his index finger, it feels odd - an unwelcome intrusion, but little more - there's no pain, not until it draws back, and two sink into him, they ease in and out, aided by a low ache that makes Loki wince, and yet - he only presses his hips back for more. He feels them spread within him, scissor deftly. Slowly.

"One more, brother." Thor whispers, and Loki nods, presses his brow to the wall once again as those fingers ease out, only to sink in again - this time, he cries out, choked and broken, his nails dig into the wall, and Thor peppers his shoulder with soft kisses, and soothing hushes of '_shhhh_'.

He doesn't move, at first, and Loki's eyes remain closed tightly, he wills himself to relax, feels the soft burn instead, the press of his fingers, warm within him, and he exhales slowly. They begin to move, as if Thor reads his thoughts, easing into him, and back out again, fucking him slowly in measured strokes, another scrape of teeth and stubble brushes over his shoulderblade, and those fingers curve upward, and a shiver skitters through him, before they, too, ease out.

The loss leaves a much different ache behind - hollow, _empty_ and he shifts in dissent - he wants more. He wants them back, he wants _something..._ but then he feels the blunt head of Thor's arousal brush over him, press between his cheeks, before it nudges his dusky entrance - he feels it press into him, he feels him sink inside, and he's bigger - he's _wider_. He's slow - Loki feels himself stretch for him, and it _hurts_. A hand flies back, grips at Thor's hip, as if to tell him to slow - but he doesn't. He sinks into him, slowly, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, and he's wide - he's wide and so long and Loki sobs once into his arm.

There's a low groan from behind him, and just as he thinks he can't quite take any more, Thor's hips press flush to his backside, and he exhales with a sharp gasp, he's panting. "Shh, brother - hush." Thor is murmuring to him, soothing a hand down his flank, brushing another up his chest, "...so good… so tight…" he whispers, voice filled with stifled awe.

It hurts - aches sharply, a low throb he can't quite ignore, but it begins to fade. Steadily. Slowly but surely, it begins to fade, and then, he nods, his hand falls away from Thor's hip, and settles back against the wall. He feels both of his brother's hands close about his hips, and he draws out of him, Loki's lips part - another silent sound of pain remaining within him as Thor sinks back in.

He's big - he's _too_ big, he's thick and hot inside him, and yet - behind the pain, it feels _good_. He's slow, he's gentle, and he soothes Loki quietly the entire time. One hand settled upon the small of his back, like he needs guiding, with the other closed about his hip - but before long, Loki's hips are pressing back, arching back for more. For more of that thick heat, to be _full_ again. Thor's pace begins to increase, and his hands close tightly around Loki's thin hips, thumbs digging into the flesh at the small of his back. Both of Loki's hands remain braced against the wall, and then - on a particularly sharp thrust, Thor brushes something - something deep inside him that makes him see white.

A sharp cry leaves him, his back arches and his cock _aches_. A shudder ripples through him, up the insides of his thighs, and he's spreading his legs wider, shifting his feet further apart, wanting more, more, _more..._ he's pressing back, hands pushing him away from the wall and back into his brother's hips, he hears a low growl, and one hand leaves his hip in favour of his shoulder, tugging him back sharply, and the lewd _slap-slap-slap_ of skin-on-skin fills the empty room.

Though Thor draws out of him, suddenly, sharply. Before Loki can question it, he's turning him, pressing him back into the wall, spreading his legs and urging him up, so Loki blindly complies. Hands winding around his shoulders, Thor lifts him from the ground, his legs wind about his waist, and Thor reaches down between them, finds his arousal, and guides himself back into Loki. It wrings a cry from him, and his nails bite crescent marks into Thor's shoulders, but this doesn't deter him. A hand slides up Loki's outer thigh, and he's fucking him again, hard - quickly. He's lost for breath, he stabs at that same place inside him each time, until Loki is breathless and crying out brokenly - he doesn't know how much more of it he can take.

"Mine." Thor huffs out. "All mine.."

"More." Loki gasps, "Please - I-I need-"

But Thor moves him - moves them in a swift, easeful movement, he settles him on the bed, the lube rolls towards his shoulder as the mattress dips beneath him, and Thor barely stops - he's driving into him again, and Loki's thighs spread wide for him, his hands reach back for the sheets and knot into fists, tugging so hard they pull the sheets out from under the mattress. He reaches down with a shaking hand to palm at himself, to stroke himself, he's so hard it _hurts_, so hard he's all but _throbbing_ with it.

"Come for me, brother." Thor growls, "...want to see you.."

And he does. He couldn't possibly hold back for much longer, a particularly brutal thrust that slams the headboard into the wall on an odd angle hits that sweet spot within him, and he's coming. He spills between them in a harsh rush, a warm surge of release that paints his hand - and his stomach, his back arches upward, and a sharp cry leaves him, he feels his brother still fucking him - still hammering at his overused prostate until he's a shivering wreck, trembling and gasping - oversensitive nerves singing.

But he's not far behind, Thor growls, grunts - his hips stutter and his fingers dig into Loki's thighs, and he comes - he spills inside him, fills Loki with a blistering heat that feels as if it ripples through him, through _every inch_ of him.

"I love you." Thor gasps, abdominals spazming from his release, hand trailing down Loki's chest, to the mess upon his stomach, "…did it all - I love you… did it because… _because_ I love you." and Loki turns his face into the sheets, gasps sharply as Thor's softening cock draws out of him, but he's upon him then, settling his weight over Loki, trapping him in for another kiss - their mess pressed between them.

Loki can feel Thor's release trickling from him, warmly - and he closes his eyes. He kisses back, lifts a hand from the sheets to run through Thor's wild hair. They're both panting, breaking the kiss to tear in sharp breaths, before returning to one another again - as if they cannot decide which is more important, their need to breathe or their need to touch.

"I love you." Thor whispers to him, again, "You are mine." he presses another kiss to Loki's lips, "Mine… and I love you."

"Rest." Loki urges softly, "I don't need you collapsing upon me, or I fear I'll never move again."

There's a warm chuckle from his brother at that, one that has the bed moving. "It's good indeed to see that you've not changed." he presses another kiss to Loki's lips, drawing back far enough simply to look at him. At the soft flush that kisses his cheeks, at the thin sheen of sweat upon his brow, at the tired set to his eyes.

"I love you." He murmurs again. He kisses Loki's brow, and eases off him, drawing back enough to help him up, too. He drags the sheets back - and as if Loki's broken each bone in his body, he helps him back into it, before he follows suit.

"The cloak-…" Loki begins, but Thor is already reaching back for it, for where he's left it, pooled in a red heap upon the floor, he brings it up, settles it between them, watches with an amused smile as Loki settles it over the sheets, and he eases in beside him.

Encased within it - their seemingly ever present taste of home - they drift to sleep. _Safe_.

Thor does, at the very least.

* * *

He can't say how much later, but Loki slips from the bed silently. He takes the cloak with him, winds it about his waist, and pads silently towards the door, glancing over his bare shoulder at his brother's form - his chest hurts, it _aches_, for a brief moment, before he frowns to himself - shoves away and suffocates the unfamiliar feeling, and reaches for the doorknob.

Tony may indeed have cameras everywhere - but he's no stronger than Thor.

Surely he'll need to rest eventually...


	8. Midnight Bullets and Darker Corners

**A/N**: Early this week, I know! I've been deathly sick, and I've had job interviews and other dramas that just make me want to sleep until christmass! So here we go! and here's hoping this sickness doesn't last, sleeping is all I have been motivated to do, bleh. But here we are! Please let me know your thoughtss!

* * *

The Stark Tower looks nothing short of eerie at night.

The lights of the glimmering city below shine up at it like stars in a winking, upside-down sky with an invisible moon. Clouds hide the moon, but it almost doesn't matter when such vibrancy teems thousands of feet below. Like a surging, whirling current of life. A current that probably never stops - not even when the Chitauti made their grand entrance. If anything, they had made that current run just that little bit faster. It had been all the more beautiful to watch.

The lights below flood the inside of the tower, they give Loki light. Just enough to see what is in front of him. He gathers the cloak up in one hand, and it drags behind him against the polished floor as he walks - the cold tiles are impossibly hard against his bare feet. Though he doesn't make a sound this way, and that's all that matters to him now.

There's a resounding ache in his lower abdomen, the insides of his thighs hurt, muscles strained - from being held open, perhaps. He moves with the slightest of discomfort, and he can still feel his brother's release inside him - tricking out of him. He ignores it - he ignores it as best he can (even if thinking back to their activities prior makes something odd in his chest almost _leap_, as if his heart might be jumping for joy - absurd as it may sound).

He locates a stairwell tucked away beside a wide river-view painting, and begins to ascend, wary enough to keep his eyes peeled for those little black cameras that could potentially be watching his every move - though he sees none, and what more did he expect? This is Tony Stark's _home_. Anything so blatant would be an embarrassment on the man who creates the most detrimental war equipment that could very nearly put Asgardians to shame.

It spurs him on - he needs to be quick, if by chance Tony is indeed awake and watching him, he wont have long. He wont have long at all. His pulse quickens - as do his steps.

He makes it to the floor beneath them and he finds the curved handle of a door and pushes it softly open, just enough for him to slip through, one hand knotted in the cloak about his waist as he eases through, edging it closed after him. His eyes have adjusted by now, it's darker in here - by the doorway, there are a set of crisp white lab coats hung up on wall hooks, as well as a pair of trousers that make Loki hesitate. Though he drops the cloak, snatches up the trousers, and tugs them on. They're too big - a problem made simple as he tightens the belt, he takes a lab coat next, and shrugs it over his shoulders.

He ventures further inside, the walls are lined with detailed diagrams of the human body - of the human brain, arrows pointing to the cerebral cortex, to the optical lobe, the precentral gyrus - words Loki hasn't seen (nor cared for) ever before. It's a lab, he realizes quickly.

'_Good..'_ he thinks, this is exactly what he needs. This is where Stark not only builds, but stores his works. His inventions, both the successful ones, the failures, and the ones that work far better than he had hoped - far, _far _better than he had hoped, and those are the ones Loki wants.

The soft whirr of the wide desktop computer makes him jump - before he realizes just what it is and smiles dimly at his own folly. He presses on and outstretches a hand to brush over the single area of clean desk space, a midnight handgun sits by the edge of the desk, his fingertips ghost over it, before he comes to the first covered up crate.

The base of his spine tingles in a blatantly familiar way - like he's being watched, like he isn't alone, like eyes are on him - but he doesn't _have time_ to stop and look, to see just who might be there. No, he tugs the rough fabric from the crate and lifts the wooden lid quickly, (with considerable effort) before he settles it aside in favour of the contents within.

Inside, yes - there are missiles. Loki reaches out, curves a delicate hand over the cold metal of the topmost ammo. He smiles again, it's incredible. Incredible how something so very small could have such an effect. Could kill quite so many people - could be the most deadly thing to humanity, when he knew what was truly deserving of fear. What could truly make one tremble within their boots, and it definitely wasn't a simple chunk of metal.

"Hey."

He freezes, the smile fades from his lips, and he turns sharply, and light floods the laboratory in an instant. Loki flinches back, eyes struggling to adjust to the bright invasion. But beside the switches upon the wall, stands Bruce Banner. Loki wants to smile once more. There had been a time, not long ago, when he'd known everything about this odd little man. This odd little man who wasn't little at all when tickled the wrong way - as indeed Agent Barton had explained.

He looks much the same. Perhaps a little rougher about the edges, his hair is as unruly as Loki remembers, his eyes are a soft brown, and his skin an olive shade - he looks tired. Exhausted.

"Good evening." Loki offers him, with a smile.

"Wh-… w-what are you… what are you doing here? Tony said-"

"_Tony_ informed us we were indeed welcome to stay the night, although he indicated not to go to the upper floors. Were they not meant to be your workspace?" he asks, tilting his head with false curiosity.

"I… th-they… y-yeah they were, but I just came down here to -… w-what are you doing with those? Step away. Please, step away." he extends a hand towards Loki, and steps closer - he's dressed almost identical to Loki, in an open lab coat and trousers, and now Loki knows what they're for. A second glance about the room now flooded with light, shows him the dents the size of boulders in the metal walls, the smashed light bulbs, the twisted and broken hunks of metal thrown off to the far ends of the room, and understanding dawns upon him.

"Why do you stay here?" He asks him.

"What?"

"Confine yourself like an animal. You oughtn't. You've no reason to hide. Certainly not anymore."

Bruce just looks at him, confusion in his kind brown eyes.

"Children dress up as you for costume parties. I've seen them." Loki offers him an empty smile. But once more, Bruce doesn't answer him. "...or did you like it when they feared you? Did you like it when they would do as you asked, because they feared what you might become if you were refused?"

"No. _No_. I-I n-never wanted anyone to be s-scared of me." He steps forwards again, and he's shaking, Loki can see it, "I don't trust m-myself, I don't trust _him_ and I definitely don't trust you. Now, step away from those. Please."

"Am I scaring you, Doctor?" He asks, an amused smile playing over his lips.

Bruce clenches his jaw. "Where is Thor?"

"Asleep. Where I've left him. He'll likely be that way for a little while." Loki curves his palm around the base of the missile, "I would think Bruce would be the one you would most wish for when you're like this. I know _he_ must be close." he nods to Bruce's hands, trembling so much the sleeves of the lab coat shiver up to the shoulder seams.

"Step away, Loki. There's nothing in here for you."

"Oh, quite the contrary." Loki tilts his head, thoughtfully, "Everything else has gone to plan, there's no reason why this shouldn't, either. Play the part of the heartbroken younger brother, and Thor laps it up." He shrugs, "It got a little exhausting, holding my tongue all that time. But well worth it." He nods, "But all right."

He lets go of the missile, but instead, he reaches back, he sees Bruce stumble back a step, hand flying out to brace himself against the wall, fingers scrabbling for something by the light switch. Loki sees him press another button, and breathe a sigh, of relief? Its his response that flashes a warning bell within Loki's mind, and he snatches up the handgun from the desk in a single fluid movement. No - he hasn't come all this way for everything to be _ruined_. Not again.

"What did you just press?" He asks, voice brisk in the silence of the lab, echoing to the sharp corners and against the warped metals. "_Tell me!"_ he shouts.

Bruce is watching him, eyes wild, lips parted, all but gasping in his effort to keep himself contained, his shakes have travelled to his shoulders, his knees, he's bent double.

The door crashes open, Tony stands there, Thor not more than a step behind him, and Tony's face is twisted with rage.

"See? I told you he was a fucking maniac, what the hell is the matter with you? I don't even want to know what you did in that room, but this is my goddamn-"

The trigger is there, the trigger is right beneath his finger, and he tears his gaze away from Thor and Tony, he looks to Bruce, who is still looking at him, eyes wide, fear-filled, set upon him like he's the only person who exists in that moment - and _oh_, it's a look Loki has _missed_ seeing. Bruce has braced himself upon his knees, he's shaking so very, very much - and Loki squeezes the trigger, he pulls hard, and the gun fires, a sharp _crack_ that echoes more sharply and more sudden than any sound he's had the pleasure of hearing before.

The bullet whistles in a deadly silent waltz until it hits home.


	9. Green and Silver

**A/N**: it's that time of the week again~ and we have one last chapter to go, we're almost done! c: I sincerely hope you are all enjoying this~! I am still rather sick, and thank you for your words of concern, those of you who messaged! I'm not feeling any better, and I truly hope that doesn't reflect here! Do let me know what you think! Enjoyy!

* * *

It's as if time has slowed down.

Loki turns to look at Thor and Tony, and their expressions are indiscernible. Thor is gazing at him, eyes unfocussed, lips parted - shock and something akin to betrayal (heartbreak) upon his face, Tony is entirely focussed on Bruce. Bruce whom has crumpled to the floor with a hand over the blood licking from his chest. But he does not lie still.

He's upon the floor, trembling, shaking. Quiet sounds are coming from him, muffled cries of pain. Tony starts towards him, breaking away from Thor's side, throwing the lab tables that block him aside with vigor as he tears towards his fallen friend. Weapons Loki can't even begin to weep for crash to the floor, sparks fly as metal grates upon metal, and Tony reaches Bruce's side in an instant.

"Get out!" He shouts.

Neither Thor nor Loki move.

"I'm not even fucking kidding, get your ass out of this goddamn lab - you know what. Get out of my house! You _and_ your idiot brother!" he snarls. "You have no idea what you've done."

"Tony-" Thor starts.

"_Out!"_

But it's too late. The moment his hand makes contact with the small of Bruce's back - his body begins to ripple. His head snaps back, with a roar Loki knows can't possibly have come from him. Tony jerks back, presses his back to the doorway, trapped in place beside Bruce as his skin flushes a sharp emerald.

The moment Loki realizes what he's done - the gun slides from his lifeless fingers. It clatters to the tiled floor - but he doesn't hear it connect.

Every inch of Bruce swells, grows, doubles in size until the lab coat around his shoulders rips, the seams of his trousers tear, and the top of his head almost touches the ceiling. His great muscles flex, his meaty, green hands curl into fists, every inch of him clenches, and with a sharp growl - the bullet in his chest springs free. It leaps from his chest, falls upon the floor, and rolls to connect softly with Lokis bare foot.

It's as if time stops, and all he can hear is his heartbeat, ringing a heavy staccato in his ear, his fingers flex, and he dares a glance up - and that is not Bruce whom is staring down at him. Those are beaded black eyes, a messed mop of dark hair, an angry grimace - a monster.

"Run." it's a whisper, from the floor beside Bruce's left foot. Tony is looking at him, eyes wide.

But as if to brush him aside, the back of Bruce's hand swings past and hits Tony in the shoulder, sending him pitching to the floor on his side, and then - he's stalking towards Loki. Huge feet leaving little else for the floor beneath him to do but shudder and crack beneath his weight, his lips part in a meaningless roar, and his hand shoots towards Loki. It grips him the moment he tries to scamper - to escape. It's fingers wind about him - and he has a horrifying flashback to being swing in this very hand, being slammed into the floor time and time again until he no longer knew left from right nor up from down and all he could do was stare blankly ahead until his world would level out once more.

The air rushes from his lungs, and when he tries to force it back in, there simply isn't any room. He struggles, he kicks, and Bruce grips tighter. Holds him so tight he feels his ribs beginning to groan, the blood rushes to his face, his head spins, his lips part around a silent scream where he thinks _this is it..._

"STOP!" it's a crushing cry from the doorway of the lab, the ringing sound of something hard whistles and rushes towards Loki, slams into Bruce's wrist before his blurred vision, and he drops Loki - he falls to the floor in a heap as Bruce's arm is forced back, his resounding howl makes the very ground shake - Loki would cover his ears if he were able. He forces himself to lift his head, to recover his spinning vision as he squints through the hazy edges of his gaze - Bruce has reached Thor, Thor whom is wielding Mjolnir, standing between Loki and Bruce, as if he's a makeshift wall - a shield, protecting his brother, protecting what is _his_.

"Are you all right, brother?" He asks it sharply, glancing back only for a moment.

"-Yes.." Loki manages to wheeze.

A nod is his only affirmation that Thor has heard him, and his arm snaps back once again, every muscle in his shoulder tensing, tendons shifting beneath skin as he hurls the hammer again - this time, it connects solidly with Bruce's shoulder. Another bloodcurdling roar leaves him, and Thor steals a glance at Tony.

"How do you control him?"

"Control him? God, he's not a bloody cocker spaniel!"

"I am not familiar with-"

Bruce snatches him up next, and Thor's hands clamp down upon him, Loki looks to Tony, searching for his gaze as if to plead '_do something'_, though not even he can say quite why - but Tony has already struggled to his feet. He vanishes behind the doorway, out of sight, and when he returns, a short, black revolver is in his hand, he aims it at Bruce, at his thick calf, and he fires. The bullet - though it doesn't quite look like one - hits it's mark.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to make this more difficult?" Thor snaps, both arms working to keep Bruce's fingers from crushing him.

"Give it a second! Jesus christ, you lot are impatient." and indeed, before too long, Bruce's fingers grow slack. Thor drops from within them, landing cat-like before him, gathering to his feet and inching back carefully. As if he still fears Bruce will lash out for him. But indeed - his form shudders once more, shakes, quivers, and begins to shrink.

Loki sees Tony moving from the edge of his vision, and Bruce's body gives a last shiver, and the green drains from his skin, and he lies upon the cold, hard floor. Bare for them to see - and for all intensive purposes - unconscious. The apparent bullet quivering from his leg looks like little more than a dart. Tranquilizer - Loki realizes, belatedly.

Tony covers him with a lab coat, as if he's done this countless times before. He looks to Thor, and for once - his gaze lacks all hints of humour.

"I'm not joking around this time. You need to take your psychotic brother and go. Don't you think he's caused enough goddamn trouble as it is? He's burnt Nat, he's mindfucked Clint, he's ruined my lab, and he's shot Bruce. Can you not see a pattern, here?"

Thor straightens and stares at him, as if he's hearing those words, piecing together Loki's actions bit by bit, for the very first time. He lowers his head, his gaze clouds, the set to his jaw hardens, and his hands curve sharply around Mjolnir's hilt.

When he looks to Loki - it's as if he's looking at a simple stranger.

If he could move; perhaps Loki would run.


	10. Forgotten Days

**A/N:** Its over! c: Honestly, I'm quite relieved! My biggest problem with longer stories like this one has always been that I neglect to finish them, but I got there! c; Thank you EVERYONE to your kind words, of both encouragement and support, to those of you who messaged me whilst I was ill (I'm almost better, now!), and those of you who pleaded with me - be it for more smut or a happy ending (I'm sorry!), I truly hope I did not dissapoint, and I truly hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, if it kept your attention, and occasionally made you smile, then my job here is done. c: Please let me know your thoughts on this final installment! Thank you, again! (and if you'd like to follow me; here is my tumblr!: .com 3 )

* * *

"What was he trying to do?"

"You have weapons, Stark. It was plain stupid of you to let him stay under your roof when you had enough to blow up New York to fuckin' Fiji in your back pocket!"

Fury isn't pleased, but Thor hadn't expected him to be. He flickers before them in a 'hologram' (or so Tony had explained, in… excruciating detail), and he is the very picture of anger. A frown twists his brow, offsetting the strap to his eyepatch, and the muscle in his jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth together. Thor thinks he might be shaking with his rage, or perhaps its simply the projection's odd light…

"He wanted the fucking bombs. He doesn't have his goddamn powers anymore - at least you did one thing right." and he glances at Thor, "...no magic meant no control. He used the magic last time to summon his little worm hole, the closest thing he had to that, now, were explosives."

"Take him home." He says, then, and Thor can only assume that is directed at him, "Take Loki home and lock him up - hell, kill him. Fuck it if it matters to me. He's a menace, a nuisance. If he can't have your world, he's going to take ours, and he doesn't _belong_ here."

Thor glances back, and beside Bruce's torn labcoat, his brother lies. Immobile, wrists tied securely together by little more than rope, and a gag forced between his lips - a mocking substitute from the very last time Thor had taken him back… his stomach twists at the sight, debased like an animal - that isn't what his younger brother is.

_Not_ an animal, _not_ a monster.

He blinks up at Thor - pleading - with shining green eyes. It is this sight that cements his resolve.

"I will take him home." He says, "Alone. He will be put to death. By my hand." and he sets his jaw, he squares his shoulders, and he feels Bruce shuffle beside him.

"He wont stay here?" He asks, timidly, both arms crossed over his chest, the fresh lab coat pulled tight over his form - there are no clothes left for him, it would seem. The Doctor glances back to Loki's huddled form, and Thor sees nothing but resentment in his gaze - he had been shot, after all.

"No. I will take him back to Asgard to-"

"I'm gonna send Natasha to escort you back." Fury interrupts.

"That wont be necessary." Thor sends back.

"Yeah, send Nat and neither of them will make it home." Tony adds, with a dry chuckle.

Thor says nothing, he looks back to Loki - the moment that gun had fallen from his fingertips, Thor had been on him, pinning his arms to his sides and snatching the rope from Tony - no more damage need be done. The less he does, the better…

For all of them.

_They don't understand..._

...yet here they stand, now. Three of them, before Fury's flickering, neon-green image, with his brother huddled by one of the upturned benches, his eyes are closed now, as if in defeat.

"Six months."

Thor looks up, Bruce is surveying the damage done to the room - the damage _he_ had done…

"The other guy hadn't come out for six months, and still - he's capable of doing all this."

"Hey, Doc, it could've been much worse-"

"It could have been much better, too."

A long silence follows his words, they sink in like razors, but only Tony seems to understand them. Bruce gives Thor one last look (as if in farewell), before he turns his back, he disappears around the corner, out of sight. Tony exhales a sigh. But when he faces Thor, his expression is hard once again.

"Right. Time to hit the road. Off you go. Need a lift anywhere or-"

"We will be all right." Thor tells him, with a curt nod. He strides forth, and reaches down to help Loki to his feet. He steadies him, carefully, and then - he extends an arm, tugging at Mjolnir, feeling it's warm heat brushing against his consciousness, he gives a tug, and closes his eyes as the cool metal kisses his palm.

At the very least, he knows this wont be the last of Tony Stark that he sees.

* * *

The bombs felt like his magic. He could almost _feel_ them on the next level of the building. Thrumming with their synthetic heartbeats, calling his name in low hums that only he could hear. They yearned to be used, and he could sense them. He could feel how long they had been sitting there for, biding their time, waiting for their chance to shine. They were like the Chitauri - deadly, and dormant.

Waiting for someone to command them.

Missing his magic was like missing a limb. Like he couldn't see properly, or like he wasn't hearing something he ought to. Like he was missing an important detail, or a name that hung upon the tip of his tongue, that he could never quite find…

He's weak like this. Weakness is the single equivalent of mortality. It makes him sick.

But even as a mortal, surely he could prove that he could still posses power - who better to help him display power than Tony Stark himself? He keeps his eyes closed as they travel.

Alone.

Fury has sent Clint thirty minutes behind them. To give them time for a goodbye.

* * *

His apartment is exactly as he had left it. He thinks - it feels as if it were an age ago. When he was someone else. He almost doesn't remember… maps still litter the floor, and books remain stacked upon one another in neat piles, and he sits upon the couch - the very same one Thor had first come to him in, and a cool lethargy settles over him. He knows this is it, it has to be… why would Thor pick here to say his goodbye?

Could they not simply return to Asgard?

He looks up at his brother for answers, but indeed, he doesn't meet his gaze. He's looking elsewhere, _everywhere_ but at Loki, swallowing again and again, adams apple bobbing each time. He has his back to him, and Loki realizes then that… this truly is it.

"Aren't we going home?" He asks, he speaks quietly, but it is not unlike a silent scream in this room.

"I am." Thor faces him, at last. Anguish settles behind his blue eyes. "You are not."

Loki frowns, puzzled. Surely Thor can't intend for him to stay here? To live among the humans again and be a _good boy_…

"If you return with me, you will be killed." He says, evenly, "Clint is under the impression I have taken you back to that patio in the park, and I will leave from there, but I will leave alone. He will not know… and you must remain here."

"Brother, I-"

But he cuts himself off. Thor intends to leave him here? A slow, twisted smile would touch over his lips if he would dare it. He wants to laugh at the foolishness of this, truly!

"It is my fault that this happened. My selfishness, my carelessness. I should be the one to suffer this time, not you, brother."

He dips down onto one knee upon the rough carpet before Loki, they're eye-to-eye.

"I cannot come back for you again." He whispers, and his eyes shine, heartbreak, pain, refusal - its all there, plain as day. Shining like the skies and the ocean right before him, and… Loki is lost for words.

"You can never come home."

The words slice like a knife, and Loki looks away, his lips part around words he can't find in himself to voice. A lump wedges itself into his throat, and his mouth feels dry - his eyes are warm. His chest _hurts_.

_He can never come home..._

He would lie through his teeth and swear on everything he held dear that Asgard wasn't his home, but if he did envision one…

No, it isn't Asgard he would envision.

He looks up, eyes still wide, and fixes his gaze upon his brother. He reaches out for him, and brushes a palm over the hollow of his cheek, the pad of his thumb drags over stubble - and he gazes into those endless blue eyes…

In them, its like he sees Asgard there - the twirling, shining, endless blue of all the stars, of those far off worlds he'll never again get to visit, those places that had almost been his home, all in a kaleidoscope of colour before him, he looks on longingly...

For the last time.

None of it seems to matter anymore. The Chitauri, Stark's bombs, ruling Asgard - it all seems to fall to the backburner, overshadowed by his brother's hulking form (the single being who had ever truly mattered), forgotten. Meaningless… meaningless…

He commits the way that stubble scrapes against his skin to memory, he closes his eyes and tells himself he'll never forget, Thor surges towards him, and presses their lips together in a fluid - but painfully gentle movement, it has Loki pressed back into the couch. Unthinkingly, his arms wind around Thor's shoulders, he's pulled flush, pressed close, warmth seeping into him from all sides and he draws in a shuddering breath - the scent of rain, of gunpowder - of air… of _him_. A soft whimper leaves him, Thor squeezes him closer, tighter, as if he wishes to meld their chests together - so that they might never part again. Thor breaks the kiss, and Loki simply envelopes him tighter in their embrace.

"Brother-"

"Let me go." He whispers, voice muffled in Thor's shoulder. "You must let me go."

He grips him tighter, his knees press into Thor's sides, a sob leaves him, caught in the thick fabric of the blood red cloak, and then… Thor draws back, he kisses him again, chaste, brief - too brief.

_This last time._

He's reaching out, then. Brushing his thumb to press upon the center of Loki's brow - and he's closing his eyes, even if the gesture is unfamiliar, he focuses on his touch - alone…

His touch. _His home._

The words leave him as the edges of his memory begin to fray, as the cotton threads of his past (real) life fade back, as the Stark Tower crumbles to white nothingness, as bullets fired sound like a warm breeze, and hot water flung from a kettle vanishes into ghostly dust, he wont forget, he wont… it'll never fade away, none of it will… and he isn't lying this time.

"I love you."

...but he never does remember.

* * *

_Loki still dreams. Sometimes of things that feel familiar. Of things that he thinks might be memories... one in particular - although it feels like an age ago now. Yet two little boys play upon a hilltop beneath a swaying willow. One stands upon a moulded mound of dirt, and declares himself king, whilst the one with the jet black hair, only giggles and claps his hands together with glee._

"_I will be King of Asgard! Off to save all the princesses in the land!" the blonde boy cries._

"_What about me?" The smaller one asks, shuffling forwards on his knees. "Would you ever save me? I'm not a princess!"_

_The blonde boy clambers off his dirt-made throne, and presses a kiss to his brother's brow._

"_You don't need to be." he tells him, "You'll never need saving!"_

_"I wont?" The littler boy blinks owlishly up at him. "Why not?"_

_"Because I'll always be with you."_


End file.
